


Doctor Fawkes

by Neroro



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Drug Use, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Slow Burn, non-graphic amputation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2018-10-28 19:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10837584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neroro/pseuds/Neroro
Summary: Doctor Jamison Fawkes finds a wounded man on the run and gives him a home in exchange for protection.





	1. Chapter 1

_July, 1904_

The night has passed by in a blur. Cold and damp, rain is coming but that's the least of his concerns, his face a bloodied, painful mess. Rain might be nice actually, to wash the blood and dirt away but water would just ruin the scabs that are starting to form. Mako leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, takes a deep, rumbling breath before pitching forward and coughing violently as various fluids from his broken nose runs down the back of his throat. There's movement to his left and he lifts his head, feeling like it's made of lead and with spit and blood dripping from his chin.

"Hooley dooley, mate, that's a nasty cough ya got there."

He has a hard time focusing on the figure in front of him, tall and lanky and with a voice that grates his ears. He blinks slowly.

"Go away."

He tries to growl in warning but it just makes him cough again. The figure is still there.

"You a dero or somethin'?"

Mako wipes his mouth on his sleeve and glares up at the man, tries to scare him away but he doesn't move. His face must look horrible, even more so than usual, everything feels tight and swollen and he can't open one of his eyes. He just wants to pass out for a while and not deal with all this. The figure pokes his stomach with his cane, crutch? Some kind of stick, he can't see shit in this darkness.

"Ain't never seen someone your size before," the man crouches down with some trouble and looks up at his face. "Who did that?"

"None of your business."

"Must've been a right powerful bastard to do somethin' like this to a bloke like you."

Mako starts getting up with a low groan, dizziness hitting hard enough that he has to put a hand to the brick wall next to him. He's been on the run for a long time.

"Ya look bloody strong though, got ya by surprise did they? Bet ya could take on anyone in a fair fight."

Finally this guy is making sense, damn right he could snap him in half if he wanted. He's honestly tempted to. Why is he following him?

"Where ya going?"

Mako continues trudging down the uneven street, he'll have to shake this guy off somehow, find a new place to sit.

"I can patch you up."

He slows down, to listen, definitely not because he's losing his breath. The man hobbles up next to him.

"I could use a bodyguard."

Mako huffs a breath. He's made to destroy, not protect.

"I'll pay, give ya a roof over your head." He cackles and elbows Mako in the stomach. "All the grub ya can eat."

He doesn't stop laughing, even when Mako slams him against a wall and holds him there with a forearm to the throat. Who exactly is this guy?

"Why?"

"As I said, I need a bodyguard. Yer strong and haven't killed me yet, so..." He half-shrugs and gives him a grin. Mako narrows his unbruised eye, trying to figure out what his deal is. He's tired, he just wants to rest, his breath catches in his throat and he has to cough again, easing up his weight against the man to hunch in on himself a little.

"Did I mention that I'm a doctor?"

Well, that changes things a little, he could use one of those. Mako clears his throat and spits on the ground before straightening up and looking down at the man. He could always just accept his treatment, kill him and take over his house. He said he'd pay him so he probably has money. The man grins up at him, a little unsettling, but Mako is confident he can take him on if he tries something weird. He releases him but doesn't step back.

The man snickers and starts hobbling down the street. He's missing a leg, Mako can see that now, cut somewhere above the knee. The night is quiet and his crutch is loud against the cobblestone.

Mako didn't give any agreement to being his bodyguard yet the man seems to expect him to follow him and Mako finds himself doing just that, lumbering five meters behind him all the way to the other end of town. The man stops in front of an old two-story house and fishes a key out of his pocket, giving Mako enough time to catch up. Mako glances at the name plate while waiting. _Fawkes_. The door creaks open and they make their way inside.

The entryway is dark and just as cold as the outside and Mako stands a little awkwardly just inside the front door until Fawkes calls for him. He moves further into the house and finds him in what appears to be some sort of work room, shelves cluttered with bottles and jars and medical instruments on every surface. Mako wonders what all the scrap metal in the corner is for.

"Sit." Fawkes points to a chair by the desk and leaves the room and Mako decides to obey, sinking into the chair and leaning back, the old furniture complaining under his weight. He looks around the room for a bit but he is tired and soon feels his eyes drifting closed for a few minutes before he jerks awake at the sound of Fawkes coming back. He's got a bowl with hot water, probably boiled, and a couple of rags held tightly in his left arm as he uses the right to support himself on the crutch. He puts the bowl on the desk and goes to the shelf to find more things. Seems like he really does intend to help Mako.

Fawkes dumps his findings on the desk and makes space for himself before taking a seat on it and beckoning Mako closer. Fawkes hands him a piece of string and tells him to tie his hair back before starting to wash the blood off his face.

The warmth feels good on his sore skin, rubbing away the caked, dried blood and making it feel less tight. Fawkes is humming as he works and Mako finds himself quickly growing annoyed with it, but he needs his tattered face tended to so threatening the doctor to silence won't do. He isn't exactly gentle but the touch is far more intimate than what Mako is used to and he finds himself leaning back further in the chair to put some distance between them. If Fawkes notices, he doesn't say anything. Well, he does say something but it sounds like he's muttering to himself more than anything, talking himself through the process of washing Mako's face and sterilizing a needle in the candle flame and threading it with a twitchy hand.

"Hold still."

Fawkes extracts something from a small bottle into a syringe and presses the needle to his skin. Something for the pain he says as a weird warmth enters his veins. The haziness sets in a few seconds later and he barely feels it as the needle pierces the skin on his forehead and starts working its way down to his eyebrow. Cut, new stitch, from temple to jaw this time. Snap, new stitch, under his eye and down the cheek. A short but deep cut on his chin gets a few stitches too before Fawkes moves on to his split lip, or, Mako thought it was just a split lip, but Fawkes is threading the needle again and starts stitching on the _inside_ and Mako realizes that it must be, like, actually split, in two, all the way through. He tries to keep his breathing steady but he can feel it quicken and irritate his throat and he hunches over to cough, spit and blood and mucus all over his hands and with a needle dangling from his lip. He hates being seen like this. Fawkes eyes him a little warily, mouth and nostrils covered by the inside of his elbow while waiting for him to stop. Mako wipes his mouth carefully with the back of his hand.

"I'm not sick, just bad lungs." Why did he add that last bit? It makes him seem weak and Mako hates feeling weak. He closes his eyes and leans back in the chair and Fawkes drops a rag onto his hands and continues stitching his lip. He finishes by setting Mako's broken nose and wrapping most of his face in bandages, sitting back with a satisfied grin.

"All patched up."

Mako grunts, he should probably thank him. Fawkes stands in front of him, observing, then gives a soft groan of irritation before tugging Mako's shirt up, revealing the damage underneath, bloody streaks across the right side of his chest and a gash on his belly deep enough to show the yellow fat. Oh right, he'd forgotten about that, the pain all blurring together into one big, bloody mess. Fawkes draws up a chair and gets back to work.

It's another half hour before Fawkes deems his work done and pulls on Mako's arm to get him to stand, dragging him along into what looks like a combination of a bedroom and a sitting room, a strange clutter of furniture, objects and clothes strewn about, not nearly as orderly as the work room.

"Patient bed ain't wide enough for a big lug like you." Fawkes has crouched down in front of the fireplace and is in the process of getting a fire going, poking the logs around until the flames catch and he gets up with some difficulty.

"Right then."

He hobbles over to the bed and puts his crutch up against the wall before laying back against the sheets.

"Bet yer hungry as a black dog, can't let have anything until mornin' though."

Hungry is an understatement, he's _starving_. Mako nods and sits down on the floor, Fawkes rolls over and looks at him.

"What're ya doing mate, get up here."

Mako grunts and lies down on his side, facing away from the doctor.

"Floor's fine."

He can hear Fawkes shuffle around and after a few seconds he can feel pillows being thrown at his back and landing on the floor next to him. He waits until Fawkes' breath evens out before he grabs them and tugs them under his head.


	2. Chapter 2

Mako wakes up feeling like he was hit by a freight train, face swollen and sore and chest aching, back feeling like he's being stabbed as he sits up slowly. The doctor is gone and he takes the chance to just sit and _think_. He hasn't slept this well in months, even if it was on a hard and relatively dirty floor it was dry and sheltered and warmer than outside. Maybe being found by them was a blessing in disguise, if they hadn't caught him and ruined his face the doctor probably wouldn't have paid him any attention. A substantial price to pay for a roof over your head. He brings a hand up to rub his aching sternum, maybe it was his bad lungs that saved him. He hasn't felt gratitude in a long time. Maybe staying here for a while isn't such a bad idea. His stomach hurts with hunger, didn't Fawkes say he could have food in the morning? He gets to his feet and takes a look around the house. 

There's a set of stairs out in the entryway but he doesn't feel like going through the trouble of climbing them, instead opting for going down the hallway. There's a kitchen on the left, relatively big and well equipped, though it doesn't seem to be seeing much use, most surfaces covered in dust and cobwebs clinging to corners and ceilings. There's a door to his immediate right as he stands in front of the doorway to the kitchen and he takes a look inside. It's a weirdly empty room, only holding two night tables, a reading chair and a dresser. There's scuff marks on the floor leading out of the room, this must be where the bed in the sitting room comes from. 

"My parents slept in there."

Mako turns and looks at the doctor. He looks younger in daylight, a tall but scrawny thing with terrible posture and bruised dark eyelids from what he assumes is lack of sleep. 

"Let's have a look at that mug of yours."

Fawkes goes back to his work room and Mako follows, settling into a chair and letting him unwrap his face. 

"Crikey..."

Mako's stomach drops and he wants to shove the doctor away. Hurt something. 

"What a bloody mess." Fawkes laughs at his own humor and Mako sits up a little straighter, makes himself bigger but Fawkes doesn't react to it and just goes to wash his hands before sitting down on the desk and checking his lip. 

"I'll change this after you've eaten," he concludes and moves on to running a thumb over Mako's other stitches. 

"Minor infection here." He presses his fingers to the wound on his forehead and Mako closes his eyes against the pain, grinds his teeth as he wipes away puss and blood and disinfects before re-dressing the wounds and checking the ones on his chest and belly. Fawkes presses his ear to Mako's sternum without warning and Mako instinctively gives a warning growl. 

"Sounds like a lung infection." Fawkes talks with his head still pressed to his chest, either he has no concept of personal space or he just doesn't care. The fact that there's a stethoscope right there on the desk pisses Mako off. 

"Always been like that," he rumbles and pushes Fawkes away with a hand to his shoulder. His lungs have been bad for as long as he can remember, though being out in the cold for months has definitely made things worse. 

"How long since you've eaten?"

"Days."

"Let's leave this for later then and get you some grub." Fawkes pats Mako's gut and gets up, supporting himself on Mako as he gets his crutch in place. Mako huffs in irritation and stands before Fawkes has stabilized himself, jostling him and he laughs nervously and scampers off to the kitchen. Mako remains in the work room for a bit, eyes falling on the single bed pressed up against the wall, the sheets stained with blood that didn't want to come out when washed, leather straps hanging from the sides. Mako has never been to the doctor before, not a real one with a coat and office and title at least, his only encounters with people with medical training being emergency patch-ups after jobs gone wrong.

He goes to the kitchen and finds Fawkes by the stove, stirring a pot and muttering to himself. Mako sits down by the wooden preparation table and starts brushing dust from the surface onto the floor, wiping his hand on his pants when Fawkes comes over and sits across from him, sliding a bowl across the table. 

"Here ya go, big guy."

Mako takes the bowl. It's oatmeal, he hasn't had oatmeal since he was a kid. He lifts the spoon and watches the porridge run off, much too thin. 

"Why exactly do you need a bodyguard?"

Fawkes snickers and takes a sip of his tea, it must be scalding, considering how little time has passed since he went to the kitchen, how does he not burn his tongue? 

"Let's just say that I have somethin' a lot of people want."

Mako makes a questioning grunt around his spoon and Fawkes grins, wide enough to show off two golden teeth. 

"It's not somethin' ya can find around the house." Fawkes makes a vague hand gesture and slurps his tea annoyingly. 

"Who are you?"

"Jamison Fawkes, serving the city since 1889, well the more shady parts at least." Fawkes, Jamison apparently, laughs and puts forth a hand for him to shake, Mako takes it reluctantly. 

"Mako."

Jamison smiles and nods before moving on to the terms of their deal. Mako can stay at his house and he'll pay for all his expenses in exchange for protection, he's basically to be a glorified guard dog, make sure no one comes and takes him in his sleep, maybe help him fix the place up a little. Jamison leans closer over the table and adds that he'll pay him a substantial amount if he comes along on 'outside jobs' too. Mako hums in agreement, he's done enough dirty work that whatever his employer asks him to do probably won't surprise him. 

A loud thud sounds from the front of the house and Jamison scrambles up onto his crutch and hobbles out of the kitchen and down the hallway. Mako is on his feet in seconds, surprising himself with his willingness to protect. 

"Fawkes!"

Another loud thud. 

"Oi, I'm coming don't break the door!"

That's exactly what happens, the old wood splitting and the door slamming open against the wall. Outside are two men, one unconscious and gravely injured, soaked in blood, his left arm in tatters. Jamison stands warily halfway down the hallway, Mako right behind him. The man in the door takes a heavy step inside. 

"I'm not here to take you in."

The silence is heavy enough to make seconds feel like hours. 

"Thought Blackwatch had their own doctors." Jamison sounds uneasy but he still pushes past Mako and makes his way to the work room, gesturing for the man to follow. 

"They're out, you were close."

Mako lets him pass and walks behind him to the doorway, ready to stand guard and make sure nothing happens but Jamison comes over to him and pats his arm with a nervous grin. 

"Go finish ya brekkie, see if ya can fix the door." A slight pause. "Feed the horses maybe? This is gonna take a while."

Horses? Mako can't help but raise an eyebrow a little. 

"The stable is behind the house."

"Fawkes!" 

"Right." Jamison turns around and goes to tend to the injured man. Mako observes for a few seconds but eventually goes back to the kitchen, wondering if Jamison trusts the man not to harm him despite his apparent unease or if he just doesn't trust Mako yet and decided it'd be better with less eyes on him while working. Maybe they just need to exchange some words that aren't meant for Mako's ears, it wouldn't be the first time he'd be in that situation. He sits heavily on the kitchen chair and spoons the lukewarm, bland meal into his mouth. He's still tired, the ache in him bone-deep and persistent, so being allowed to take his time and only do minor chores today suits him just fine. A muffled cry comes from the closed off work room, too deep to be Jamison. He should probably take a look at that door. 

The damage is relatively minor but the wood around the lock has split and detached the whole closing mechanism. He pushes the door as much into its usual position as it'll go and lumbers back to the kitchen, he's not a carpenter, or a locksmith, or whatever occupation it is that puts locks back into broken doors. 

He scratches his stomach, the stitches are itchy, he's still hungry. He looks through the cabinets but all he finds is pots and pans and fancy porcelain. He grumbles unhappily until he comes across a bigger cabinet that turns out to be the icebox, much fancier than the one they had at his house when he was a kid. There isn't much in there, nothing that can be eaten without being cooked first. He sighs loudly, coughs, closes the icebox, heads outside. 

The stable door binds a little but he manages to pry it open without damaging it and two horses raise their heads and look at him expectantly. They didn't have horses at the home he grew up in but the presence of the animals still feels familiar enough that he feels a sense of ease settle within him. He holds out a big hand by one of the horses and it gives an initial flinch but soon accepts having its forehead stroked, lowering its head in contentment. They both look old and tired, Mako can relate. He wonders if they're still being used to pull the small carriage outside, Jamison doesn't seem like the type to run an ambulance service. He finds the container with their feed and pours some in each of the little troughs on the walls of their box stalls and picks up their water buckets. Nostalgia washes over him as he cleans them by the outdoor tap, he could get used to this again. 

There's a ragged scream coming from inside and Mako drops the buckets and rushes to the window. The dark-skinned man that broke the front door is trying to stop the injured man's thrashing as Jamison works on cutting through the ligaments of his elbow. Mako was desensitized to blood years ago so he waits patiently by the window until the arm falls to the floor to tap the glass, causing Jamison to turn around. He gets a bloody thumbs up and goes back to tending to the horses, he just needed to make sure his new employer was alright. 

He fills the buckets with water and gives them to the horses, one of them almost drains it within minutes so he gives it a refill and a few claps on the side of its neck before sitting down on the small bench in the corner. His head feels heavy and he wonders if there will be any more chores today. It's as if his body is finally allowing itself to relax and deal with whatever is wrong with it, letting him feel the symptoms now that he is safe. 

Safe. 

Mako coughs into his forearm. He doesn't know if he's safe, but this place is a good opportunity to lay low and heal and figure out what to do at least. He's pretty sure he's sick, as much as he claims not to be. He can feel something is wrong and it's not just the cuts and stabs littering his body. Didn't the doctor say something about an infection? Mako leans forward and rests his head in his hands. It hurts.


	3. Chapter 3

"Oi, Mako!" 

Mako stands from the bench just as Jamison gets the stable door open, blood on his clothes and trapped at the edges of his nails. 

"There you are."

His mouth stretches in a grin as he waits for Mako to make his way over, the reason a mystery to him. He smiles too much, it's weird. 

"Now that that's done with, let's go into town, get you some stuff to make your stay comfortable."

Mako half shrugs and follows the doctor back into the house. His lip tastes weird but he doesn't want to remind him that he said he'd take a look and instead just watches silently as he slips a coat on, barely covering the blood. 

"McCree."

Jamison points to the bloody bed. 

"And chief Reyes."

He points to the chair next to it. 

"Stay clear of them if ya can."

Mako nods. 

"But they ain't the worst. Watch out for Morrison, grey-haired bloke, real copper looking. Him and his folk all wear blue coats, you'll know when you see 'em."

Mako grunts and nods again.

 

The walk into town is relatively uneventful. Quite a few people turn their heads as they pass by but Mako is used to that, though he suspects some of them might be passing glances of curiosity because the town doctor has someone in tow when he is probably usually alone, rather than because of his size alone. Jamison greets anyone who stares too long with a hearty and too loud "G'day!" and Mako chuckles lowly when a dapper looking man startles and jumps aside in surprise. 

They stop by the grocer and pick up tea and sugar and rice. Jamison tells Mako to just add whatever he wants to their purchase and he spends a long time letting his eyes roam over the shelves behind the slightly nervous looking owner, not used to being given choices like this. Jamison quickly loses patience and starts walking around the store and fiddling with the wares, and Mako grunts out a low "ground coffee" before his new boss can decide they've spent too much time there and leave. They hit the tailor next where a couple of seamstresses take Mako's measurements so he'll be able to change out of his ruined clothes soon, three days, he overhears one of them tell Jamison. The hands all over him and the close proximity has him feeling slightly uncomfortable but Jamison looks pleased with the progress and even seems to take interest in the cuts and choice of material. Mako has another coughing fit near the end and Jamison is there with a square of fabric that feels too expensive against his skin as he coughs and heaves into it, leaning on the counter while his boss fishes the money out of his coat pocket with a grin. 

After a quick visit to the butcher ("no pork"), and a stop at the market for vegetables, herbs and eggs, a woman approaches them, clearly in distress. 

"Mr. Fawkes!" 

Jamison groans and pulls on Mako's sleeve to turn him around. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Fawkes! We're in dire need of assistance, please stop and listen."

"I'm busy."

The woman quickens her pace and walks up to the side of Jamison, putting a hand on his forearm. "Mr. Fawk-" 

Jamison pulls his arm away and takes a few steps back, Mako squares his shoulders. The woman hesitates, analyzing the situation. 

"We... we can make a trade?" Jamison lifts an eyebrow and hunches closer to her face, the woman wrinkles her nose a little at his smell. "Medical supplies, as many as you... or your... companion can carry." She doesn't look happy about having to make the offer but still tacks on a level headed "we need a surgeon," to point out the seriousness of the situation. 

Jamison grins. 

"Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Ziegler."

 

And that's how Mako finds himself in a busy hospital, surrounded by gurneys and injured people. An accident down at the railroad work site apparently. Jamison doesn't appear to be too distressed as he takes his time to walk around and either greet people or simply leer at them, walking in a big circle around a short, peaceful looking man with hair shaved close to his scalp, keeping his distance. Mako subconsciously runs a hand through his own hair, long and greasy, remembering a time where is was short and prickly like that man's, though his is probably a personal choice rather than something forced upon him by others' hands.

Jamison has finished his round and comes to stand by a young, dark-skinned man working on someone with injuries littering his side and abdomen. He leans down close to the wounds and observes the pulsing and twitching of the flesh for a second before taking a needle from the table of instruments and starting to stitch together the injuries that the other has cleaned. Mako takes a seat by the wall and observes Jamison as he works, how he smiles and makes small talk even as he has his hands buried in human innards, how he hunches low and snickers to himself. His right hand shakes and twitches so much he has to pull away to steady it to avoid ruining his work, and he takes the tool he was holding between his teeth so he can flex his fingers slowly and massage them with his other hand. He notices Mako watching and his near-permanent smile widens. Mako grunts and averts his eyes. 

It's almost a full hour before Jamison calls Mako over. He's switched patients, this one a larger man with a long, deep gash on his back and heavy bruising on his ribs. 

"Gimme a hand, would you? I'm gettin' a lil tired here."

Mako stands still in confusion, he's not a doctor, not even a nurse or in training. He looks around the room, trying to find someone to replace him but everyone is busy. Jamison looks up at him briefly before looking back down with a breathy half laugh, half sigh and reaching back for Mako's hands, placing them on his narrow waist. He's not using his crutch, Mako realizes, he has to use both his hands in his work and is keeping his balance by leaning awkwardly against the gurney. Mako tightens his grip a little to hold him steady. His hands feel sweaty already, both from the unfamiliar situation and the heat radiating from Jamison's body, young and lithe, he can feel his muscles move under his shirt and his own body heat up, embarrassing, uncomfortable. He hopes that the other doctors aren't watching. He coughs loudly into his own shoulder, loosening his grip awkwardly once he's done. He was definitely squeezing him a little too hard through his exertion. 

"Sorry."

Jamison shrugs. 

"This one wasn't gonna make it anyway."

Mako looks at the patient, then glances at the doctor working next to them when he feels their eyes on him. Right, coughing near open wounds probably isn't a very good idea, not like he could really avoid it though without going against his boss and leaving the room. Jamison pats his hand and they move on to the next body. 

Several hours later they find themselves in the supply room, Mako with his arms full of cloth bandages and glass bottles while Jamison pulls stuff from the shelves, spending a long time looking over the labels before piling it on top of their haul. It's all gibberish to Mako, he never practiced reading very far beyond what his parents taught him, so he just waits and spaces out a little until Jamison addresses him and asks how he's doing, eyes going to his chest and then his face. Mako shrugs and looks away, he feels like he could collapse any second. Jamison laughs a little and Mako can't figure out why. 

"Let's just bring home a bit of everything then, shall we?" 

They do just that, arms and bags loaded with as many supplies as they can carry. The walk home feels much longer than when they were going out, Jamison's leg tired from standing and Mako just tired in general. The door still isn't fixed and it takes bit of effort and a small dresser from the living room to keep it closed. It's nearing the late afternoon and Jamison stands a little awkwardly in the kitchen after setting their purchases down, scratching his scalp and looking up at Mako. 

"You hungry?" then, before Mako manages to answer, "forgot to do your checkup, didn't I?" 

Mako gives a slow nod. 

"Right, right, then uhh... I, I'll get something started and you can wash up and get out of those dirty clothes, can't have another infection happening. You can use the washrooms in the infirmary." He gestures the route he has to take through the house with a still twitchy hand. "Might be something you can wear upstairs but I dunno, haven't been up there in years." He laughs, looking slightly uneasy, clearly not used to having people over. "You're free to check out the rooms if you want, find somewhere you wanna sleep."

Mako nods again and puts all the groceries and medical supplies he was holding on the table, then leaves the kitchen and walks down the hallway. He stops in front of the door leading to the infirmary, next to the staircase leading upstairs. A shower does sound nice, but the sick feeling in his stomach and chest and head is only getting stronger and all he really wants to do is to lie down and rest. He looks towards the kitchen, pulse beating slightly faster at the thought of disobeying orders, even as minor as the disobedience is. It sounds like his boss is still by the stove, so Mako grabs the old banister and starts climbing the stairs slowly, wheezing and coughing the whole way. If Jamison hears he doesn't make anything of it, and Mako makes it to the top of the stairs without being stopped, walking past the door with a large _JAMIE_ carved unevenly into the wood and instead opening the next door further down the hall. 

It's a small room, barely containing anything but a large bed and a bedside table. The low sun bathes the room in an orange light and reveals how dense the air becomes with dust as he lowers himself onto the bed with a quiet groan, too vulnerable for such a large man. Everything feels cloudy, numb yet aching and much too hot, sweat seeping into his clothes and the dusty sheets as he writhes slightly on the bed. This is the most homely and comfortable place he has been in decades, the softest bed he has ever laid in, yet he can't find comfort, in pain and tense as he is, heartbeat loud in his ears. He covers his eyes to block out the sun and curls up on his side, self preservation instincts taking over as he hides away like a sick animal. 

That's all he is in the end, isn't it? 

 

"So this is where you've been hiding." 

Equal measures of relief and shame wash over him as Jamison walks to the bed, his crutch loud against the wooden floor. Mako has no idea how much time has passed but the sky is dark outside and the air chilly against his burning skin. Mako hides his face in the crook of his elbow, in no state to face the consequences of going against the wishes of his boss. He was told to clean himself and he didn't, he was told to find clothes and he neglected to, his body tenses in preparation for the punishment but all he feels is a gentle hand placed on the skin of his arm, then the center of his chest. 

"Shit, mate, why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" 

Mako tries to steady his breathing but still finds himself panting like a dog, barely fighting it as Jamison moves his arm away to look into his fever-ridden eyes. Jamison's own eyes are narrowed slightly, head tilted as if he's trying to reach into Mako's core, read his mind. He puts a hand over Mako's left eye, leaning closer to his right. 

"This one still working? Quite a nasty bruise ya got here."

Mako rumbles against the congestion in his chest, sitting up slowly with some difficulty. He needs to regain some semblance of control of the situation. 

"'s blurry..."

Jamison covers his right eye and looks into his left instead. 

"Not as blurry."

"But still blurry?" 

Mako nods. 

"Think we need to get you some eyeglasses, mate."

Jamison titters and continues checking out different areas of his body, looking over his stitches and scabs, listening to his breathing through his back. He leaves and comes back, then leaves and comes back again, having to climb the stairs multiple times to get everything he needs to the room with only one arm available to carry it, the other occupied with supporting himself against his crutch. He cleans Mako's wounds in the sparse light from the candle on the bedside table and washes his broad, sweaty back of months of filth, rubbing the old, toughened skin as he coughs and hacks up phlegm. Mako can't help but appreciate the affectionate touch, as much as he wants to shy away from it. Dry, cool hands on his burning skin, one stronger than the other, too much and not enough. 

He leans forward to cough again, to get away, and Jamison eases up his massaging and instead touches him more lightly on his lower back, asking him questions he doesn't have the presence to answer and he barely feels the prick of a needle replacing the touch, only that the pain lessens and his head feels light as Jamison taps pills into the palm of his hand, hesitating a little and lowering his eyes to his gut, then tapping out a few more. He swallows them with some difficulty and a lot of encouragement from Jamison before laying down, grabbing at the sheets awkwardly as the drugs kick in. Jamison laughs a little and puts a hand to Mako's sweaty face, runs his fingers through greasy hair and Mako doesn't have it in him to stop him. Heroin, he explains and Mako just nods and snorts gently as Jamison rubs his chest, still burning with fever but in considerably less pain. He blinks heavily as Jamison suddenly gets up and says that he has some things to take care of, giving him a pat on the stomach and leaving the room, the _tap thunk_ of his steps growing faint as he makes it down the stairs. 

Mako lies and looks to the ceiling for what feels like a long time but is probably only a few minutes, lightheaded and confused by the emotions he's experiencing, how much he longs to have a pair of hands back on his skin. Shameful. He falls asleep rubbing a hand over his chest, to remember or erase the touch he isn't sure. 

 

He jolts awake not an hour later, nightmares of a yellow haze making his heart pound so hard it feels like it'll break through his ribs. The room is cold and dark and it isn't hard for his influenced mind to take him back, make him believe he is somewhere else. He buries his head in his hands, breath much too fast, too shallow, wishing, dreading that the doctor will come back up the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

It's a slow process, long days and cold nights, too much time to think. Mako spends most of it in bed, weak with fever, but still manages to help out Jamison with the house and the horses when he's asked to. 

Mako still can't quite get used to his new life. Jamison lets him more or less do as he pleases as long as he's around to keep watch at night and comes along when he goes out. He sleeps a lot, not used to having free time, no drive to do anything for himself, no urge to do anything really. Mako sits on his bed, the room he slept in that night now his, and runs a finger over the stitches on his gut. The gashes have healed much faster than he expected, merely a series of scabbed over lines now even though they were open, heavily bleeding wounds a few days ago. He picks idly at the stitches until they start to bleed then lays back on the mattress, feeling restless. Where should he go from here? It's only a matter of time before his past will catch up to him and drag him back, lock him up where they say he belongs. He should leave. So many people around town have already seen him and it isn't like there's a lot of people over two meters tall walking around, especially not of his general stature. He closes his eyes until the voice of his employer travels up the stairs and calls him to dinner. 

His body obeys without him having to think about it. 

-

Jamison isn't a great cook. The rice is undercooked and the vegetables bland but at least there's plenty. Mako is starting to feel comfortably full halfway through his third serving as his employer points at him with his fork, smile wide enough to show off his gold-capped teeth. 

"We're going out tonight."

Mako looks at him to show he's paying attention, though he doesn't make eye contact, locking onto Jamison's sharp collarbones instead. 

"Funds are running a little low," he stuffs his mouth with rice then continues gesturing with his fork, "there's a big bank about an hour from here I've got my eyes on, don't want to cause too much trouble too close to home." He's had plenty of run ins with the local law enforcement for theft and arson and starting fights, but a full blown bank heist is something he might not be able to rat his way out of. Mako nods in understanding. 

"Ever robbed a bank before?" 

Mako shrugs, he's stolen but never from a bank specifically. 

"That's okay, you seem like a capable guy. I'll show you the ropes."

Jamison goes over his plan, break in, knock out any guards, steal all the money, run away. Simple. Mako finishes his plate as Jamison keeps talking, then starts gathering their dirty dishes to take them to the sink. 

"Ah, no need for that, mate, just go get yourself ready, oh wait-" Jamison hobbles off and Mako stands awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen until he comes back. How is he even supposed to get more ready than he already is? 

"Here we go."

Jamison returns and hands him a stack of clothes, enthusiastic smile on his face. 

"Went and picked 'em up while you were sleeping."

Mako gingerly sets the gift on the table and unfolds the top item, a light colored, soft cotton shirt that actually looks like it'll fit him and not leave the lower part of his gut exposed. Next is a stack of undershirts, socks, underwear, then another shirt. Last items are a pair of gray trousers and dark suspenders. Mako stares, he's never owned a pair of iron pressed pants before, or a shirt without rips and tears. 

"They said the coat would take a few more days, but I figured you would want to change into some fresh clothes as soon as possible." 

Jamison is still looking up at him with that smile. 

Mako should thank him. 

He gives him a nod instead. 

-

Mako spends an hour washing himself off with a wet rag in the infirmary washing room, not wanting to ruin his new clothes with days of sweat and filth. The steam from the boiled water works well to help him clear his lungs and throat and he takes his time to cough everything up properly before drying off and getting dressed. His chest and throat still hurt but he feels significantly better after being allowed to rest. Whatever Jamison has been filling him with must have helped the process along too since he feels much more steady on his feet and less feverish after just a couple of days when he expected to be bedridden for weeks. That second night he wasn't even sure he would ever leave the bed at all, suffering slowly and painfully until he boiled up from the inside like so many others. 

He doesn't think much about killing the doctor and taking his money anymore. He's a bit overwhelming to be around but he has been nothing but friendly towards him and Mako can appreciate that, an inkling of safety and kindness he has always been without, a stable food supply and clean clothes. With nowhere else to go this really is his best option. 

Feeling like he's presenting a new, cleaner version of himself, Mako stands awkwardly in the doorway to Jamison's office, silently waiting for his boss to notice him. He's building something, a metal rod attached to some kind of hinge mechanism. Mako shifts his weight and the floor creaks.  
"Well would you look at that! You clean up nicely."

Wouldn't anyone look better in quality clothes like these? Mako looks to the floor, then back on Jamison's current project. Jamison grins. 

"Building myself a leg," he moves his stump for emphasis, "knee looks promising on this one. That can wait though." He gathers some stuff from his work table and throws it in a sack, then gets up and hobbles off to the back of the house. They get the horses and the carriage ready and Mako helps Jamison onto the driver's bench before climbing into the too small inside. 

Jamison is a talker. Mako isn't but his boss doesn't seem to mind. The ride is uneventful, cold and unsteady. Long. He wonders where exactly they're going, he's not very familiar with the surrounding towns. There's a light drizzle but not enough other sounds to make the very one-sided conversation any less awkward. Mako sighs and closes his eyes, the carriage is small and dark and a little too alike the small room he's spent too many years of his life in. He tries to focus on Jamison's words instead of the feeling of the ceiling pressing down on his head. 

The town is asleep by the time they arrive. Jamison parks the horses and carriage a small distance from the bank and crawls into the back with Mako, licking his teeth. 

“Right, so here's the plan.”

Mako nods and listens to the plan a second time. He has to silently remind his boss to bring the bags to carry the stolen goods in.

They go straight for the front entrance. Getting the door open is easy, Mako just pulls the heavy handle and lock loose with a hard yank and a quiet grunt, one-handed. Jamison looks up at him, then away, a bashful titter leaving him. Mako cracks his neck and slowly moves inside. 

It’s pitch dark. Jamison giggles and pulls something from his coat pocket. There’s the sound of a match being lit and a small flame comes into view, lighting up the gold in his grin. He drops the match into a jar in his other hand and pink flames spark and burst alive, trying to escape their prison until Jamison puts a lid on it.

“ _Chemicals!_ ” he stage whispers. Mako looks at him, unamused, isn’t he going to burn his hand? 

Bathed in pink, they start making their way through the bank, casting long, dull shadows on the walls. Jamison yelps and almost drops their light as the glass heats up and he desperately switches it from one hand to the other until Mako wraps his own hand in one of the sacks and takes the burning light from him. 

“Ta,” Jamison smiles and Mako can't look away even though his entire being feels like it's screaming at him to do so. “Not as much of a brute as you look, are ya?”

Mako would be offended, had he not been used to much worse. There's a sound coming from the back of the bank, footsteps coming closer. Jamison giggles and slinks away, too fast for Mako to notice where to. He cracks the fingers of his empty hand and looks around, annoyed, unable to see very far. He can hear shuffling and a cut-off yell and moves towards the sounds to find Jamison dropping an unconscious guard to the floor, holding a folded piece of cloth in his hand. Mako looks at Jamison, then at the man on the floor.

“Why do you need a bodyguard?”

Jamison laughs and stuffs the cloth into his coat pocket and gestures for mako to follow him.

“Always good to have an extra set of eyes,” he leads Mako toward the back of the bank, “and muscle.” He giggles, Mako scratches his gut and looks the heavy vault door in front of them over. Jamison isn't expecting him to be able to force that open, right? Mako gives him a sideways glance and Jamison bares his teeth in a grin. 

“Bring the light closer, mate.”

Mako does, positioning himself just to the side and slightly behind his boss, holding the light steady as he observes him pull a pair of goggles and few flasks from his bag. It's quite fascinating, watching his usually emotive face settle into an expression of quiet concentration, back bent and hands steady. Well, his left hand is. The flask in his right shakes lightly, requiring extra focus from him every time he has to dip his pipette. Mako watches him silently, lithe and bathed in pink. He looks almost otherworldly, something equally more hellish and divine than a mere human. 

“...”

Mako blinks as he realizes he's being spoken to and shifts slightly in place, reluctant to admit that he wasn't listening. 

“Give it a tug, will you?”

Jamison's gaze shifts between Mako and the door a few times and Mako steps forward and takes hold of the vault handle. The lock gives easily, weakened and broken down by chemicals and Jamison claps happily, grinning from ear to ear, cheering Mako on despite the fact that he himself did most of the work. 

There isn't much inside the vault, just a few trunks lined up against the wall, half-filled with paper money. 

“So easy with you around, mate, usually takes me thrice the time.”  
Mako isn't sure if he's talking about getting the vault door open, shoving the money into sacks, or the break-in as a whole, but he gives a small nod and a low sound at the back of his throat nonetheless which seems to please his boss. 

“Alright,” Jamison starts and does a dramatic spin on his singular leg. He points at Mako, who is just finishing packing up their loot. “You take the money out back and wait there.” Mako nods. “That bloke too.”

Mako does as he's told and waits by the horses, money in the back of the carriage and bank guard on the ground next to him. He rubs his nose with his forearm in an attempt to get rid of the sharp, distressingly homely stench of chemicals that insists on staying stuck in his brain, pausing and straightening up slightly in attention when he hears the already familiar laughter of his employer coming from inside the bank. Black smoke rises, slowly at first but quickly evolving into thick plumes, tinted orange by flames bursting through the windows and licking up the walls. The horses whinny and Mako grabs hold of their reins, watches, transfixed, as Jamison runs from the bank as fast as his one leg can take him, wide-eyed and cackling. He turns and walks backwards as he gets further away from the burning building so he can watch the flames eat away at every consumable surface. 

“Beautiful, isn't it?!” His voice is airy and his arms spread to present his work, back stretching to its full length as he throws his head back with a gleeful giggle. Mako can't help the small smile tugging at his lips as Jamison spins in place, eyes closed and face open and young, slim silhouette dark in the light of the fire. Mako can appreciate its destructive beauty, its greed, its warmth, especially when shown to him by its lover. Jamison hobbles over, a little dizzy, a little out of breath, steadying himself with his hands on Mako's gut. The light catches on the gold in his smile. 

“I feel so _alive_.”

The night is chilly but Jamison is warm. Mako feels sweat build on the back of his neck as the slighter man leans lightly against him, belly to belly and chest to… also belly. Jamison giggles still, watching the fire out of the corner of his eye for a moment longer before turning his head to look up at Mako, wetting his lips. Warm hands stroke his chest and Jamison tilts his head up, rises to stand on his toes, breath damp and hot and close.

Really close.

Mako’s breath hitches and he turns his head away slowly, just a little, just enough for Jamison’s lips to hit the fat on his jaw instead of his chin. There’s a small giggle, lowered hands, an ease of pressure from the warm bulge pressing against his gut. Jamison steps away, looks to the ground then glances back at the fire, picks at his right hand fingers.

“Sorry mate, fire got me a tad too excited.” 

He titters, Mako gives him a singular nod. 

Jamison is a talker, but it’s a quiet ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Reactions and comments are always very appreciated :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Thyme_Basalt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt) for betaing this chapter!

They don't talk about it. 

Mako's fever returns with a vengeance, bearable in the morning but making him stagger dangerously up the stairs by early afternoon, Jamison behind him with a hand on his back as if he could do anything if Mako started falling. He’s pressed to the bed by gentle hands, wiped down with a cold cloth and shot up with another dose of Jamison’s personal mixture. There's a tension in the air, not anger or danger but something more like uncertainty, something suppressed. Mako coughs, then leans back against his pillow with a rumbling sigh. Jamison fiddles with the edge of Mako's shirt. 

“Think it's time for some of the stitches to go, if you're up for it.”

Mako thinks, then nods and Jamison smiles and hobbles to the stairs and down to get his things. Mako stretches out on his back, feet off the edge for a few minutes before it gets too cold and he bends his legs to get everything under the covers. Jamison returns and climbs onto the bed to sit, close by his side as if they're about to cuddle and have a friendly chat rather than a medical examination. Mako shifts and sighs, blinks slowly as he watches Jamison cut the stitches on his stomach and chest. 

“Nerve damage,” Jamison says when he notices Mako watching his right hand twitch and Mako nods slowly, averting his eyes and looking to the ceiling, not seeing how the holes in his skin close up almost immediately after Jamison pulls the stitches out. The heat feels unbearable and he wishes for sleep to take him, to give him rest from the throbbing in his head and pain in his chest. A low moan escapes him against his will and Jamison runs a soothing hand across his sternum. 

“Been out there a long time, haven’t you?” 

Mako turns his head away slightly, sucks in a struggling breath and grips lightly at the blanket covering him, slow but tense. The past couple of months are a blur, cold, wet, long, hungry nights working odd jobs guarding transports and wringing necks, off his leash but still treated like a dog. 

“Shouldn't’ve taken you out last night, sorry.”

Jamison touches his face gently and cleans Mako’s infected lip with ill-tasting alcohol, teeth digging into his own. 

“Relax, you're safe here…”

The intimacy surprises them both, making Mako's breath stutter a little and Jamison looks away, bashful. He giggles but there's no humor to it. Taking opportunity of the rare moment without curious amber eyes fixed on him, Mako looks at Jamison and takes in his features, the way his smile drops just a little in uncertainty, eyes distant. There’s a pain there that makes Mako want to reach out in ways that he never has before, take his shaking hand and soothe the dark bags under his eyes away. Mako coughs, strained and wet, feels that hand rub his chest again. He wonders briefly if he will ever get better or if the doctor is merely being merciful and trying to make his last days more bearable, if he’s disappointed in his choice of bodyguard. 

Mako closes his eyes. 

“I can't remove the illness, but I can help you sleep.” 

It sounds half like a question and makes Mako look at him briefly through his eyelashes, a low sound of pain escaping him as he tries to hold back another cough. He shakes his head slowly, he thinks he knows what he means and he's already uncomfortably high, unsure if the bed beneath him is real, fighting for lucidity. He shifts and turns onto his side, away, wanting relief but not the means of getting it. Jamison pats his arm, rubs his thumb over old, heated skin until Mako presses himself further into the bed with a hoarse sigh and pulls the covers up to his chin. 

Jamison giggles nervously and collects his things. 

“Alright, mate. Alright.”

 

_August_

Jamison takes Mako to get his eyes checked. The old shop is uncomfortably small and the optician uncomfortably close, though at least acting a lot more professional about it than Jamison ever has with him. Mako glances over at the doctor sitting on a chair a few meters away, eyes roaming over all the different objects and instruments, fast, jittery, hungry to take everything in, leg bouncing almost obnoxiously. He catches Mako looking and grins, showing teeth. Mako huffs softly and looks away.

It’s early afternoon by the time they leave the optician’s, Mako two steps behind Jamison. They buy food at the grocer, baker and butcher on their way home and Jamison greets everyone they meet. Mako carries the bags.

There’s a light drizzle in the air.

“Thank you, doctor…”

The words come out a little muddled but Jamison still turns around, now walking backwards, and smiles.

“No worries, mate. Can’t have my bodyguard walking around unable to see, can I?” He laughs and Mako bites his lip and nods.

They go home. Mako fixes the front door, Jamison cooks dinner.

  
  


_September_

The doctor has been in his office the entire day. Mako circles by the door again for the fourth time within an hour, debating whether to enter or just go to sleep and leave him to himself. Something in his gut feels tight, Jamison rarely closes the door, usually fills the house with his mutterings while consumed by his studies. Mako shifts his weight slowly from one foot to the other before quietly pushing the door open.

The stench of chemicals fills the air. The room is dark except for the flickering flame of the light next to Jamison who is slumped over his desk, head pillowed on his arms. Mako stands still in the middle of the room. Should he let him sleep? He doesn't really want to bring attention to himself being there now that he has taken stock of the situation. He slowly steps back, breath loud in his ears and Jamison stirs with a quiet groan, lifting his head slightly and looking around, first away but then back at Mako. Amber eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles into the crook of his elbow. 

“C’mere big guy...”

His voice is hoarse. Mako slowly steps closer until he stands next to Jamison and waits for him to get up or say something but he remains quiet. Nimble fingers reach out and stroke Mako's gut, thumb finding and lightly rubbing against his belly button. There are bruises on his wrist, on his neck and high on his cheekbone, making his face pull funny as his smile widens. 

“You're so soft.”

Mako places a tentative hand on Jamison's head and the doctor laughs softly, closes his eyes briefly and rubs his face into his arm with a sigh before starting to get up, swaying in place as he supports himself against Mako's stomach. A few seconds pass before Jamison realizes what he's doing and he flinches and starts to pull away but Mako isn't making any annoyed sounds this time, just takes a deep breath and puts a steadying hand on Jamison's back, grabs his crutch after a moment of consideration and helps him to his bed in the living room. 

There's a lot of clutter in the room and it takes a while to navigate through the relative darkness to get to the bed. Mako stops next to it and lets Jamison maneuver himself under the covers with movements more sluggish than usual, watches as he stretches out and arches his back with a low, pleased whine and eyebrows high on his forehead before relaxing against the sheets. 

“Thank you, Mako..”

Something tells him that he should ask about the bruises but the thought of speaking makes his stomach feel full of lead and cold sweat break out on his back. Fingers much thinner than his own find Mako's hand and lightly strokes the dry, toughened skin, Jamison's eyes faintly distant even as he smiles feeling big fingers close gently around his hand. It's a brief interaction but for a moment it feels infinite, soft warmth frozen in time until Mako slowly pulls his hand away and it shatters. 

Jamison grins.

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to sleep here.”

Mako glances at the unoccupied space on the bed, wide enough for a man almost his size, then back at Jamison, then at the wall. 

He could indulge him. 

He _is_ pretty tired. 

It’s easier to protect him if they’re in the same room.

The floor creaks as Mako makes his way to the other side of the bed. The sheets are cold and smell of mold, not as comfortable as the ones upstairs. Old. Jamison giggles as Mako lays down next to him but doesn’t move closer, lets him have his space.

“G’night!”

Mako hums quietly in response and the room grows silent aside from their breathing. He waits until Jamison sounds to be asleep before he shifts and relaxes into the mattress, the side of his gut is pressing lightly against Jamison’s back. It feels strange but it isn’t so bad. 

 

_October_

“Mako.” 

Mako looks up from his work of cleaning the fireplace and turns slightly toward his boss standing in the doorway. 

“Care to help me in the kitchen? I know I asked you to clean in here but…” He trails off and Mako slowly gets to his feet. There’s a hint of nervousness on his usually mischievous face as he waits for Mako to come over and follow him to the kitchen and Mako chooses to stand a little closer next to him at the sink than he normally would.

Jamison washes their dirty dishes and Mako dries them off. Something is clearly bothering the doctor and Mako dreads being expected to respond to his woes, yet wants him to be rid of whatever it is that ails him. 

“Got everything you want in your room?”

Mako gives a low hum. 

“Let me know if there's anything you need, yeah? We still got some funds from our last trip to the bank.”

Mako nods and Jamison smiles and continues washing while looking out the window. Most of the things he receives still have little bits of food stuck to them and Mako idly scratches at them with a nail while waiting for Jamison to make an attempt at breaking the tension again. 

They make it through two pots, all their mugs and cups as well as a joke or two from Jamison about Jamison before he bites his lip and glances at Mako again. 

“I've laid with men.”

Mako takes the plate offered to him and dries it in silence. Jamison picks at a food stain on the kitchen counter. 

“A lot of people are bothered by that…”

Reaching for another plate, Mako glances at the doctor. He sounds like he wants to laugh but nothing comes out. Mako thinks about how the townspeople sometimes look at him, the loneliness in his eyes when they touch. Mako draws in a breath to speak but Jamison interrupts him. 

“If you think badly of it I… I-I'd prefer if you left, since you're not ill anymore, I mean I very well can't trust my life to someone who wishes me dead, can I!?” 

He laughs, a little hysterical. Mako waits for him to quiet down before speaking. 

“It doesn't bother me.”

Maintaining eye contact is uncomfortable but he tries, attempting to convey some kind of honesty through the interaction before Jamison looks away with a nervous titter. His left eye is a little lazy, his pupils unevenly dilated, there's flecks of both deep brown and gold in the unusual amber, his eyelashes are short but the hairs of his eyebrows long. He has a lot of moles on his face. Mako tries to focus on these things as his stomach sinks hearing the doctor struggle with his composure next to him, watches his hand tremble against the dark wood of the counter before disappearing up to his face. Mako takes a deep breath and picks up another cup to dry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a [Tumblr!](https://nerororoadrat.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the chapter they mean a lot to me! <3


End file.
